Spring Forward

by Catherine Anderson

  “Sure am,” the old man called back. “Come on in.”

  When they stepped inside, Tanner was surprised to see a woman sitting beside Tuck on the brown sofa. She was a pretty lady with dark hair and brown eyes. Tanner thought she exuded elegance in a black skirt and a jacket over a red blouse. A gold necklace twinkled where it draped down from under her collar. Diamonds flashed on her fingers.

  “Essie, this is our friend Tanner Richards,” Crystal said. “Tanner, this is Essie, Tuck’s new friend.”

  Essie stood to shake Tanner’s hand. Despite the ravages of arthritis in her knuckles, she had a firm grip. The thought flitted through his mind that she’d be a force to be reckoned with in a board meeting.

  “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Tanner. My last name is Maxwell Childers. Unhyphenated. When Crystal and I were introduced, I don’t think Tuck told her my surname.”

  Tanner liked this woman. She had a direct, no-nonsense air, and she possessed a commanding presence.

  “Have a seat, you two.” Tuck didn’t stand, and Tanner didn’t blame him. The up-and-down business probably bothered his hip. “It’s good to see you both. Would you like a drink? Crystal knows where everything is.”

  Tanner decided that accepting a beer might assist Crystal in easing her way into a conversation with her grandfather about the same beverage. Crystal went to the kitchen area and returned with two glasses, one for him and one for herself. He grabbed a chair from under the table and dragged it over the carpet. Crystal took the recliner so the four of them could sit in a semicircle.

  She tugged at her dress hem as she sat down. Then she tasted the lager. “Mmm, good,” she said before glancing over at Tanner. “Tuck used to let me have sips when I was growing up. I developed a liking for it.”

  “I like it, too.”

  Crystal smiled at her grandfather. “Did you ever let Rip have tastes of your PBR, Tuck?”

  The old man got an odd look on his face. “Why do you ask?”

  Crystal met her grandfather’s gaze. “Why are you evading the question?”

  “Yes,” Tuck admitted. “I’ve let him taste it.”

  “How often?” Crystal pressed.

  “Pretty often. He likes it and I feel guilty if I don’t give him some.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment. As her lashes lifted, she said, “Oh, Tuck. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that alcohol is bad for dogs?”

  “Alcohol, maybe. But beer and wine won’t hurt them. Rip’s livin’ proof.”

  The color drained from Crystal’s face. “Beer and wine are alcoholic.”

  “I know, but not like hard liquor.”

  Essie touched Tuck’s shirtsleeve. “It’s all bad for dogs, Tuck. Especially beer, I believe. I think I heard or read that hops are poisonous to them.”

  Tuck looked genuinely appalled. “You sure? But Rip’s been drinkin’ beer since he was a puppy. It’s never hurt him a bit.”

  Crystal set her glass on the small end table. “Oh, Tuck. How much did you let Rip drink?”

  “Never more than two.”

  “Two beers, one after another?” Crystal’s voice rang with dismay. “Dear Lord, it’s a wonder he’s not dead.”

  Tuck’s expression grew defiant. “Don’t go makin’ a big deal out of nothin’. It never hurt him, I’m tellin’ you. I was alone after you left. Rip was my drinkin’ buddy and kept me company in the evenin’.”

  “I know how much you love him, Tuck,” Crystal said softly. “And I know you’d never deliberately hurt Rip. But you should have at least asked a vet if it was okay.”

  Tuck looked at Essie. “Is it really bad for dogs?” He gave Essie a brief account of how he’d rescued Rip and taken him to Smokey’s to get him warm and feed him something. “An old friend of mine gave that puppy beer while I was outside takin’ care of my horse. The other ranchers in the bar said it wouldn’t hurt him none, that they’d known dogs that drank beer and wine every day and lived to ripe old ages. I’ve always believed that the beer Rip got that night might’ve saved his life.”

  Essie shifted on the cushion. Tanner wondered if she felt uncomfortable. “I’m afraid they were wrong, Tuck. Alcohol is bad for dogs.”

  “But why? We’re all mammals, and humans drink it.”

  Essie patted Tuck’s hand. “I’m not sure of the scientific reasons. And I can see your point. We are all mammals. Perhaps it’s because dogs are, for the most part, littler than we are, and what seems like a small amount of alcohol to us is a huge amount for them.”

  Crystal inserted, “I’m not sure of the reasons, either, Tuck, but—”

  “Well,” Tuck said, cutting across her, “if you don’t know, then why are you here ridin’ my ass about it?”

  “I’m here because Tanner has cause to believe Rip is at a bar right now.”

  Tanner wanted to shift on his chair like Essie just had. There was a shrill edge in Crystal’s voice.

  “What?” Tuck looked amazed. “Why would Rip go to a bar without me?”

  “To get his beer fix, possibly?” Crystal replied. “I can’t believe you weren’t aware that beer is bad for dogs. How can anyone live in our modern-day world without ever hearing that?”

  Tanner knew Crystal regretted those words as soon as she uttered them. She visibly winced.

  “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right, Tuck. I’m not saying that you’re not telling the truth. It’s just incredible that . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she sent Tanner a pleading look.

  “It’s just that we’re younger,” Tanner inserted. “We’re on the Internet. We’re always looking stuff up. What seems like common knowledge to us apparently isn’t common knowledge to everyone.”

  Tuck sighed and ran a hand over his gray hair. “Maybe Rip’s just lucky. Beer and wine have never made him the least bit sick.”

  “So far as you know,” Essie said. “Blood tests may reveal physical ramifications that aren’t obvious.”

  Crystal took several large swallows from her glass. Tanner realized he’d set his on the table behind him and forgotten all about it. “Did you take Rip to Smokey’s and let him drink at the bar?” she asked her grandfather.

  Tuck hunched his shoulders. “Now you’re makin’ me feel like a good-for-nothin’ person.”

  With a sigh, Crystal shook her head. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Tuck. I’m just trying to understand our dog. Your dog, I mean.”

  Tanner knew that was a Freudian slip if ever he’d heard one. For reasons he couldn’t understand, Crystal didn’t want to love Rip or the kitten. She acted as if the thought of loving something frightened her. He didn’t get it. She obviously cared about her grandfather’s dog. No one else in the room was as upset about Rip drinking beer as she was.

  “Yes,” Tuck admitted. “I let him drink beer at Smokey’s. He sat at the bar. I didn’t even have to lift him onto a stool. He jumped up by himself. And he learned real quick how to drink from a glass. Held it between his paws and tipped it toward him when his tongue couldn’t reach.”

  Crystal met Tanner’s gaze. Then she looked at Tuck. “It’ll be okay,” she told her grandfather.

  “’Course it’ll be okay. Beer don’t hurt Rip, I’m tellin’ you. Not even Nora got upset when I let him drink with us at Smokey’s. And she’s a stand-up gal when it comes to animals. You know that. She’d have cracked one of us men over the head with a bottle if she’d thought we was hurtin’ that dog.”

  * * *

  After leaving the facility, Tanner drove back to Crystal’s to see if Rip had come home. He didn’t want to make an unnecessary trip to the Witch’s Brew, especially not with Crystal accompanying him. It was a seedy establishment. JJ seemed like a nice enough fellow, but his patrons were lowlifes. If they’d thrown barstools through JJ’s windows, they were also scrappers who enjoyed a fight. Tanner didn’
t want Crystal anywhere near that place, particularly not when she was upset and worried about Rip. If she found the dog drinking alcohol, she might go ballistic.

  As luck had it, the dog was sitting on the front porch when Tanner pulled in. The car’s headlights washed over the front of the house, illuminating Rip for an instant.

  “He’s home,” Crystal noted. “Now what? If he’s been at the bar drinking beer, should I take him to see Jack Palmer? I’m sure he’d meet me at the clinic.”

  Tanner opened the driver’s door, and the dome light came on, revealing the pallor of her face. She adamantly refused to admit that she loved Rip, but the actual truth was obvious. “I think he’s done just fine thus far without going to see a vet, so I believe it’s safe not to take him in tonight. It’s after hours, it’ll be far more expensive than a daytime visit, and he’ll wake up tomorrow with nothing worse than a slight hangover.”

  “What if he has liver damage?”

  “Then he does, and it won’t get any worse overnight. Jack can check for that tomorrow.” He reached into the door well for dog treats. “What’s done is done. You can’t turn back the clock.”

  After they exited the vehicle, Tanner met her at the front of the car, took her arm, and guided her toward the gate. Rip came to meet them. Tanner, being out of uniform, didn’t have to pay a toll to get in the yard, but he handed Crystal a biscuit so she could.

  “Well,” he said, “you look none the worse for having another adventure, Rip.” The dog bounced around Tanner’s legs, apparently fine, but Tanner noticed that his coordination was a little off. “And I think it’s safe to say you got your nose wet.” He sent Crystal a questioning look. “I wonder why he’s home so soon. The Witch’s Brew will be open for hours yet.”

  “Maybe that isn’t where Rip has been going,” Crystal suggested, her tone hopeful.

  Drawing his phone from his pocket, Tanner searched online for the bar’s phone number and called the place.

  JJ answered, his voice a boom of sound. “Huh-low! This is JJ.”

  “Hi, JJ. This is Tanner Richards, the Courier Express driver who came in earlier this week to ask about the blue heeler.”

  “I remember you, but I ain’t got time to talk. Had a kitchen fire.”

  “Uh-oh. Sorry to hear that.”

  “Not too bad, but a lot of cleanup. Smoke was so thick I had to close early.”

  Tanner ended the conversation and told Crystal about the kitchen fire. “That’s why Rip’s home early. The party ended.”

  At the porch, Rip received another treat, and yet another before they entered the house. Crazy dog.

  Crystal flung her shawl over a chair. She stared down at Rip with a look of utter helplessness. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Tanner curled an arm around her shoulders. Her bare skin felt icy beneath his palm. “I think the most important thing you can do for Rip right now is to buy a collar with enough strength to keep him at home. If he’s drinking beer, it’s going to harm him sooner or later. Tuck doesn’t really get that, but you and I do.”

  She nodded. “It just seems so cruel to shock him to a point that it hurts.”

  Tanner caught her chin on his bent finger and lifted her face. “Did Tuck have a dog on his ranch when you lived with him?”

  “Yes, Tabasco.” She smiled slightly. “He was a great dog, half Australian shepherd and as sharp as a tack.”

  “Did Tabasco ever get shocked by an electric fence?”

  “Most dogs that are around electric fencing get shocked occasionally. So do humans.”

  “Was Tabasco seriously hurt when he got shocked?”

  “No, but he cried. It really does hurt.”

  He led her over to the kitchen desk and eased her down on the chair. “I know. I’ve gotten shocked a couple of times myself. It’s unpleasant.” He drew a dining room chair over to sit beside her. “My point is that Tabasco didn’t die from getting zapped by an electric fence, and the biggest, strongest electronic collar can’t be any worse than the current running through livestock wire. It’s to keep cows and horses in, Crystal. Compared to a dog, they’re huge animals.”

  “Yes.” She sounded as if she felt numb. “I get what you’re saying.”

  “Do you? You have to get this situation into the proper perspective. Every time Rip gets out and runs loose, he’s in danger. He could be struck by a car. Would it be humane to let that happen? He could be shot by a rancher if he appears to be chasing livestock. Would that be humane? Death from poisoning is horrible as well. You have it in your power to prevent any of that from happening.” When she still didn’t look convinced, he added, “If Rip continues to get out of the yard, think of all the puppies he may sire. It’s awful to let puppies be born into a world where they may not find homes.”

  “What?” She looked so dismayed that Tanner knew he’d just waylaid her. “Puppies? What are you saying?”

  He got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. She didn’t know, he realized. How she’d never noticed that Rip was still packing, he had no idea.

  “Crystal, Tuck never got Rip neutered.”

  She scrunched her shoulders, made fists on her lap, and leaned forward as if violent cramps had just assailed her stomach. “What?” She practically shouted the question. “Why on earth not?”

  “I can only tell you what Tuck told me. What kind of a friend takes his best buddy to the vet and has his balls cut off? No more sex, ever. All his testosterone gone. I tried to tell Tuck that Rip’s propensity for getting loose made him a poor candidate for being left intact, but you know how Tuck can be when he has his mind set.”

  “Oh, dear God.” Crystal leaped up and walked over to where Rip slept on his bed, belly up and legs sprawled. “How did I never notice that he has balls? I mean, hello. He shows them off every time he sleeps.” She lifted her hands in a gesture of appeal and turned to look at Tanner. “I suppose I just assumed he was neutered. What was Tuck thinking? How many times has Rip escaped when he smelled a female dog in heat?”

  Tanner couldn’t think of a thing to say in Tuck’s defense except, “He’s an old man, Crystal. He has funny ideas.”

  “Funny? Unwanted puppies are not funny! I’m taking Rip to the vet tomorrow, all right, and I’m making an appointment to get him fixed!”

  Tanner sighed. “I don’t want to see you destroy your relationship with your grandfather over neutering his dog. Rip is a purebred. Lots of people keep a good stud intact.”

  “There are many people out there that disapprove of breeding even purebred dogs. They feel that everyone should adopt a dog from a shelter and stop adding to the canine population.”

  “I’m not saying I disagree with that school of thought,” Tanner told her. “This isn’t about you or me, though. It’s about Tuck and his school of thought. Keeping Rip intact is accompanied by a responsibility to make sure he’s always kept at home.” He lifted his hands. “Until Tuck comes around to the idea that Rip should be fixed, how can you make sure Rip never has an opportunity to impregnate a female?”

  “A strong collar, one that will carry such a wallop that Rip can’t withstand the shocks for thirty seconds in order to defeat it.” She marched back over to the desk and sat down. “I should have listened to you from the start. A strong shock won’t really harm Rip. Not any more than making a connection with an electric fence would. I’m sure he’s lived through that and also developed a healthy respect for live wires.” She moved her computer mouse to bring up a Google search. “I want a correction collar strong enough to stop a mastiff.”

  * * *

  After the collars were ordered, Crystal sat on the sofa beside Tanner again. She felt drained, and her thoughts were muddled by stress. He poured them each a goblet of red wine. It seemed like a small eternity had passed since they had enjoyed dinner.

  They talked for a while about Rip’s future. Crys
tal needed to have Jack Palmer examine the dog and run blood work. Until the new collars came, she would take Rip outside only when he was leashed.

  Crystal began to feel better. Tanner had helped her to verbally outline a plan. She was taking control. Rip would never be able to run away again.

  “I can barely wait until Tuesday morning when the new collars are charged,” she told him.

  Tanner turned his glass, studying the purplish red liquid as it swirled across the sides. “I can deliver the collars to the salon on Monday morning, just like I did this week. That way you can get one of them charged, and you can put it on him Monday night. I’ll come over and help.”

  “I’ve learned never to leave Rip in the house while I’m gone. Except for when he sleeps, he likes to be outside. He gets destructive if I leave him alone. Separation anxiety, maybe.”

  “The laundry room, then. Lock him in there. If he does damage, I can repair it.”

  She sighed. “I feel better. Thank you for talking about everything with me.”

  “You’re more than welcome.”

  He shifted to turn toward her and set his goblet on the table. Then he pried hers from her grasp. She knew by the intent expression on his face that he intended to kiss her. She wasn’t surprised. Their evening together had started out on a lovely note. The meal had been superb. Even though a lot of upsets had occurred since then, it seemed right to end the night with a romantic gesture. She had only one concern.

  “Tanner, if we do this— Well, I think you know how attracted I am to you.”

  “No more than I am to you.”

  “What if things get out of hand?”

  He smiled down at her and then slipped his fingers into her hair. Feeling the heat of his palm against her scalp was almost her undoing. She didn’t know how a simple touch could seem so incredibly sexy, but it did. “Then I’ll be a very happy man,” he whispered.

  He bent his head. She felt his breath waft over her lips, which she parted slightly in anticipation. And welcome. Then he slanted his mouth over hers. He took control, tracing her lips with the tip of his tongue and then delving deeper. She moaned in pleasure. She felt as if bubbles were bouncing in her chest again. Her breathing became quick and shallow. Her body felt electrified. She wrapped both arms around his neck, pressed herself against him, and kissed him back with urgent need, demand, and an underlying feeling of awe. Never had she felt like this with a man.